


Dance Macabre

by IceGoliath



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 03:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6736012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceGoliath/pseuds/IceGoliath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I knew you'd get bored and do something stupid." Spiderman's voice accentuating the knew and yielding to the inevitable. <br/>He recognised this dance as the one they repeated every time Deadpool did an official mission alone and that alternative methods would be required to get him to tow the line. <br/>WARNING: The location is a bit gruesome.</p><p>(.....) Voice 1</p><p>'....'  Voice 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance Macabre

Windowless polished steel walls of the underground lair stood tarnished with a dark red pulpy substance. Under the glare of muted yellowy orange florescence, in the middle of a vast amount of body chunks lay our favourite Merc with a Mouth.  
Well, parts of him.  
He yawned loudly and patted down his body with this right hand; sighing with relief that he seemed to have at least a torso and one arm.  
“At least my best part is still attached”  
He ran his hand down what he assumed still resembled a face, pulling off the remnants of his mask.  
No nose, different.  
His fingers touched something congealed and slightly lumpy. He felt the top of his head, dipping his fingers into his skull.  
“Drippy jello brain, that’s new”  
He tried to get up.   
Nothing happened.   
He raised his head as high as he could, to look down. Entrails in all their visceral glory were spread out over the grey concrete in front of him.   
“I can fix that. Gimme a minute.” His voice a little too chirpy for the situation and the location.  
He fell back and stared at the celling, trying to recall the events that had lead to his precious body parts absconding; ignoring the pain as the healing factor tried to fix his mangled body   
“In the front door.” He counted the actions on his fingers as he said them. “Elevator, bunch of army types, boom.”  
His mission from Fury had been to go to an inconspicuous warehouse near the docks. To take a look-see, a recce, not to unalive anything.  
Well, that had gone to hell.   
He felt his skin knit together as the gaping hole in his stomach closed. His intestines growing, his organs swelling.  
“Spidey’s gonna kill me, not literally, he doesn’t believe in the K word.”   
He raised his left hand to slap himself in the face.  
He missed.  
My hand, my beautiful hand.” he howled “Petey’s gonna kill me”  
He grimaced as his legs started to form.   
Looking left and right for clothes that were in reaching distance, eyes settled on a pair of legs that looked about his size. He pulled the legs towards him and shucked the singed trousers from them like a peanut, before pulling them on.  
He scratched his head again and ran his hand down his face.  
His nose was back.   
Wiggling his new fingers, he got up.  
“Where, oh where has my little hand gone? Where oh where can it be?” He sang, badly, bouncing on his toes.  
How would he find a gloved hand in this carnage?   
(Check your pouches) growled one of the voices.  
They were back. The voices. Now that his brain was fully restored.   
His mind was still not quite the whole enchilada, but as close as it would get.  
‘Chimichanga.’ The other voice sneered.  
“Shit. Now I feel hungry”  
He obeyed the the first voice and dipped his hand into one of his pouches he had on his chest. He pulled out tiny silver box with a scanner and a speaker  
‘A silver box. Now we’re cooking on gas’  
(You know what this is?)  
‘Closet Trekkie’  
“Are you accusing me of switching allegiance? Prefer my stars of the war variety. I firmly believe Han shot first”  
(Focus on the shiny thing.)  
Deadpool scrunched up his face, not a pretty sight.   
When had he put that in there?   
Oh well. He shrugged at the convenience of the object, his guts -the newly repaired ones- seemed to have feeling that it must be useful, so he held onto it.  
“So, we’re playing hide and seek then. Ready or not, here I come” He bellowed.   
He waded his way through the bodies, ignoring a pained moan in the distance. Bending down, he picked up a gloved hand.   
Green was so not his colour. He would never wear green.  
He threw it behind him and bent down to find another one. He did the same over and over, leaving a trail like a very macabre and creepy fairytale.  
“Gahhh” He shouted in frustration and threw the silver box as far as he could. It landed in a pile of body parts.  
BEEP.   
It was loud and annoyingly insistent.  
“Like Spidey boy” he chuckled, before he winced in pain and wondered if he could still hear it if he tore off his ears.   
Taking a breath, he dove headfirst into the pile and started to dig with the furore of a dog looking for his favourite bone. With various pieces of soldier flinging up behind him, he started to get closer and closer to the stupid box.   
With a shriek of glee he gathered up the box and what was around it, then threw the box as far as he possibly could.  
It exploded with a satisfying boom as it hit the wall.   
The room fell silent.   
He lowered himself to the ground to examine at the parts he had pulled from the pile. His stomach twisted. He’d found it. Most of its fingers were missing, slightly burnt, but still encased in red.  
“My hand! The part of me I love the most.”  
(Apart from our mouth)   
‘And several other things.’  
He hugged it close to his chest then kissed it wildly, manipulating the fingers into various signs in delight at finding his appendage.  
“Why are you dancing around in body parts?”  
He recognised that voice. The tone was crossed between awe at the amount of destruction and seriously pissed.  
Deadpool looked up at the celling. Hanging upside-down a couple of metres over his head was the red and blue thorn in his side.  
“It wasn’t me”  
He put all three hands up in mock innocence as he spoke.  
Spiderman performed a backwards somersault fit for the circus and landed silently next to him in what seemed to be the only place without a puddle of gore.  
“I know”  
Deadpool’s face scrunched up in confusion.  
“It rained people parts” he said sadly, batting his eyelashes at Spiderman who just ignored him. “Then I had no lower limbs.”   
(Not getting his attention.)  
‘You can do better’  
‘’I grew some more” He said bluntly  
‘Did it work?’  
(I predict a nada and a flat out refusal.)  
“Did you think that would work?” Spiderman raised an eyebrow.  
(Try again.)  
“Would you like to kiss them better?”  
Spiderman rolled his eyes at the shameless flirting and shot a web that covered Deadpool’s mouth.  
“Wade, shut up. The soldiers had bombs in their heads. I was on my way to tell you.”  
Spiderman waiting the appropriate length for time for a response, at least a change in expression. When none came, he carried on. “Someone must have set them off when you blew door.”   
Still no reaction.   
Spiderman’s face darkened at the obvious indifference. His voice now quieter and slower.   
“All the evidence is gone and the person in charge has escaped. Fury specifically told you to stay outside.”  
Deadpool pulled the web off his face  
“When have I ever followed orders?” His face spitting into a grin that resembled a Halloween pumpkin, clearly not caring that he had enraged a superhero, who had superhero tendencies and superhero friends.   
‘Villains, no common courtesy’  
(Next time, we’ll take the roof.)  
‘Wouldn’t work’  
“We’re in a basement.”  
(We’ll take the stairs. In disguise.)  
‘So proud of yourself aren’t you.’  
(Yep)  
Spiderman smirked under his mask, as he surveyed the scruffy homicidal criminal who had spaced out and was raging quietly with himself.  
It was as if Wade Wilson had wormed his way into his life all those years ago with the primary purpose of scuffing clean cut Peter Parker a little - make that a lot- around the edges. The secondary one being to impart his knowledge of the best Mexican restaurants in New York.  
The entire process had not been entirely disagreeable.  
“I knew you’d get bored and do something stupid.” Spiderman’s voice accentuating the knew and yielding to the inevitable.  
He recognised this dance as the one they repeated every time Deadpool did an official mission alone and that alternative methods would be required to get him to tow the line.  
“Were you coming to rescue me? Be my knight in shining spandex? Knew you cared, Petey.”  
(Has he forgiven us?)  
‘He’s being snarky’  
(That’s a good sign)  
“Don’t you ever stop talking?”   
“Only in the heat of battle or when I’ve got something in my mouth.” He wiggled his eyebrows.  
Spiderman ignored him, looking him up and down. He would not take the bait.  
“You look like shit”  
“Gotta look like something. The lighting’s terrible. I look washed out and waxy” He started pouting and posing like a catwalk model.  
“Here” Spiderman thrust an unblemished suit at Deadpool “I broke into one of your safe houses”  
Deadpool paused mid strut and took the suit.  
“A bit of B and E, you know how get a guy going.”  
“Put it on before someone sees you”  
“You don’t mind seeing me.”  
Spiderman ignored the comment and watched as Deadpool pulled off his slowly disintegrating top.  
“You stink worse than death.”  
“I died again Web-head. Don’t I get any sympathy?”   
The pained moan having stopped a while ago, left the room silent.   
Spiderman licked his lips and lazily removed his mask, then with the same hand grabbed Deadpool behind his neck, feeling scarred skin underneath the material of his gloves.  
He pulled him close and kissed him hard, pausing for a second, waiting for a response which was practically instantaneous.   
He tore back abruptly and smirked at Deadpool who at least had enough sense left to look surprised.  
“Poor baby” He drawled, as he put his mask back on, eyes radiating promises and reward. “I’m supposed to be on another mission.” He webbed himself up into the roof. “They’ll be on their way. Behave yourself”  
He climbed through a hatch in the ceiling and disappeared.   
‘Oooh, I got chills’  
(Are they multiplying?) The voice sang off key.  
‘Are you loosing control?’  
Paying no attention to the reference, Deadpool shouted “S’not in my dictionary” at the ceiling, knowing full well that the face of the man under the mask would be contorting at his inability to be able to respond to such terrible grammar and vocabulary.  
Our favourite Merc was left standing alone, in the centre of a bloodbath, grinning. Under no illusion as to who would be turning up to chew him out.  
‘Stop pulling that face, you’ll frighten the corpses’  
(He’s forgiven us. He’s promising us things)  
‘Could they involve webbing and taco’s and spandex and more taco’s’  
(Why do you have to be so filthy?)  
‘We are his mind, it’s compulsory.’  
Grin getting wider, Deadpool quickly finished dressing in his preferred attire, not some blood-soaked military garb and eventually got to his mask.   
He paused, remembering what he had been hunting for and why it had been so important.   
Deadpool held up the third hand and removed the glove. A gold ring sat on the fourth finger. He pulled it off and placed it gently in a pouch.  
Definite negative consequences successfully averted.  
Definite positive consequences inevitable, if he could keep his mouth mostly shut until they flew away or teleported or whatever superheroes did these days.   
(That’s a big if)  
Think of your fans. Moist with anticipation.’   
He wiped away a sarcastic tear and set his mouth in a grim line.  
“Get it together Pool Party.’’  
(Give me a D. Give me a P)  
“My personal cheerleaders. I wonder if I could get Petey into one of those outfits.” He muttered absently.  
‘Think of the sex tape.’  
(To go with the one you made without consent two weeks ago?)  
‘Way to destroy the buzz’  
He yanked his mask down indignantly just in time.   
The Avengers came crashing into the building, brandishing various weapons and techie paraphernalia.  
He watched them in silence as they headed straight for him in all their Super Trooper glory.   
All righteous and shiny.  
His hands started twitching. His legs felt that they were on springs. His mouth opening an closing like a wind up toy.   
Like they would let him leave without asking him a load of smarty-pants questions, that he wouldn’t be able to understand let alone answer.  
He put up all three hands.  
“I don’t want to be people pieces. I have inappropriate things to do when I get home.”

A/N: Time to use your imagination folks.


End file.
